


The Night Queen

by sanzuh



Series: A Ferske van Ys en Vur [3]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms
Genre: Betrayal, Children of the Forest, F/M, First Men
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-25
Updated: 2020-10-25
Packaged: 2021-03-07 16:14:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 482
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26820469
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sanzuh/pseuds/sanzuh
Relationships: Brandon of the Bloody Blade/OC
Series: A Ferske van Ys en Vur [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1915543
Kudos: 5





	The Night Queen

She hates him, this tall, hard stranger who's walking beside her, taking long strides with his long legs, making it hard for her to keep up with him. She hates his cold eyes and his pale skin. She hates the steel he's carrying at his hip, and hidden in several other places on his body. And most of all she hates that she's bound to him now, he who's killed so many of her kind, and so many of the Ca-Ar as well.

It was part of the pact, and she'd had too many years in Midjord to let personal emotions affect her, but it isn't just her own pain she is feeling. He wanted to go north, far away from his brothers and sisters, and she agreed. There are still many of her kind left there, and many of the Seeing-Face-Leaf-Heartrooted. She hopes he doesn't mean them any harm.

The First Men, as they call themselves, were afraid of them, and it seems that these Men are wont to destroy what they fear. She wonders if he fears her. He ought to. She'd been about to become one with the Hertroted, and she had to give it up to be bound to him. Her destiny is not lost to her, but she had been ready.

"What is your name?" Brandon of the Bloody Blade asks her.

"They haven't told you?" She knows they haven't. None of her people would give away another's name.

He shakes his head and stares ahead.

"Maybe I will give you my name one day," she tells him. "When you've earned it, and I feel like giving it to you."

"How hard can it be to tell me your name?" His brows furrow, but she doesn't understand what it means. These men speak with their faces as much as with their voices sometimes. 

She laughs, a sound he should be familiar with, though it might sound different to him. "It would take hours. My name is a song, and a lengthy one. I'm almost three-hundred years old."

He freezes up and stops walking. She closes the distance between them and studies the odd movements of his face, the changing of the light in his eyes. He opens his mouth, but no sound comes out, and his hands are balled into fists.

"Then what should I call you?" he asks eventually, and starts walking again, his voice steady.

She has to think about it. What part of her defines her enough to pass for a name? What part of her is she willing to share with him? She-Wolf-Dweller perhaps? Rain Storm? Crow Swarm? Brooke-Water?

"Farburga," she tells him. 

"Farburga," he repeats slowly.

It means 'hidden' in a simplified version of her language. For now, she won't reveal any parts of her true self to him. The journey north will be long. They'll have enough time to get acquainted. 


End file.
